Then I smell smoke. Following the scent, we walk through the living room and into the kitchen. On the stove is a smoking pot on a burning flame. I hurry over to the range and turn off the burner. The inside of the pot is completely dry, like someone was trying to boil water hours ago and it evaporated.
With my good hand, I move the pot off the hot burner. On the kitchen counter is a selection of raw chicken and vegetables. Some are half-cut. I touch the chicken.
“Gross,” Paige mutters.
“It’s warm,” I whisper. “It’s been out for hours.”
The back door opens, and Leona walks in holding an arrangement of cut flowers. She’s unarmed, so I feel confident we have the drop on her.
“Leona!” I call out.
She looks up at us. I’m starting to walk toward her when it all goes suddenly wrong. Leona’s expression turns to one of horror. The flowers explode against her chest. Blood sprays out, and she falls backward out of the door.
Instinct takes over, and I duck and cover. “Paige!” I yell.
Paige ducks with me. “What?” She’s clearly panicked but not registering the spectacle. She’s reacting to me.
It dawns on me that I never heard a sound. No gunshot. No impact from the shot. No scream from Leona. I stand up and look at the back door.
Paige is freaking out now. “Darcy! What’s going on?”
I point to the door. Paige shakes her head. “What about it?”
It opens, and Leona walks in holding an arrangement of flowers.
Paige repeats her question. “What am I looking at?”
Leona looks up in horror. Or more accurately, Leona’s ghost looks up in horror. The flowers explode against her chest. Blood flies everywhere. Leona staggers back and out the door. Again.
This time, I notice something different. It wasn’t a gunshot that ripped into her. Something punched a hole in her chest. The figure returns through the door again. This time, Paige raises her gun and aims.
It isn’t Leona walking through the doorway. It’s a young woman in her early twenties with long black hair. She shuffles in, eyes cast down. Her face is pale and drawn like she hasn’t had a decent meal or good night’s sleep in weeks.
“Elizabeth?” I whisper.
Elizabeth Viramontes looks up. She’s confused when she sees me—actually, she seems generally confused about everything. Her eyes are bloodshot from crying.
I gently place my hand on Paige’s pistol and lower it. “Are you okay?”
The young girl’s lips quiver. “What did I do?”
I take a few steps forward then stop.
Elizabeth raises her hands. They’re stained with a coat of dried crimson flakes that resemble old gloves. “What did I do?” she asks again.
What did she do? It’s only then that I register the spectacle before me—Elizabeth Viramontes, her hands coated in blood, wearing a familiar blue-and-red gown.
Her body suddenly jerks and spasms with impossible movements. Elizabeth cries out in pain as she falls to her knees.
Paige pulls me away, suddenly alarmed. “Darcy! Run!”
But I don’t. I stand, watching something I’ve never seen from the outside. Leona’s apparition passes through Elizabeth’s body, blocking my view. The ghost looks up as the same spectacle plays out just like before. A look of horror. The blood. She falls back and disappears through the doorway.
Where Leona once stood, Santa Muerte rises from her knees. Her skeletal face stares at me, and her cracked lips spread in a gruesome grin. This time, however, I see her in a new light. I see a kindred spirit, a girl consumed by fire. I see Elizabeth, possessed by Santa Muerte.
She strikes with incredible speed. Her claw-like hand reaches for my chest, and I know in an instant what is coming. As fast as I can, I reach out and grab her arm. Grimacing through the pain in my shoulder, I resist her strength.
Just like before, the contact creates an excruciating shock. I resist letting go and power through the pain. Two unnatural and diametrically opposed forces are colliding in a physical plane where they do not belong—polar opposites fighting against each other and against the energy that possesses us.
Her bony arms feel like sticks under sheaths of skin. Grasping them, my hands are seared with hot pain. I twist her arm to wrestle her away. She launches herself with full force against me, and we fly across the kitchen against a kitchen cabinet.
We spin and crash onto the floor, with me on my back and the spirit above me. Her wide skull-like grin lunges toward me. Her weight pushes me down with a strength I can barely resist. Her fingers continue reaching toward my chest—toward my beating heart. I cry out to push her away. The grimacing teeth inch closer. Her eyes stare straight into mine as her face nears.
As she gets closer, I fear she’s going to bite into my face at any moment. The black voids where her eyes should be bore into mine. I call out, “Elizabeth!”
For a moment, the specter hesitates. The figure above me flickers like a glitching ghost. The skeletal face disappears, and in its place, I see Elizabeth. Two frightened eyes look back at me.
I remember that moment when Dudley released me and let me see Bennet die. In the same way, Elizabeth has regained control of her body. Santa Muerte is gone.
“Elizabeth!” I shout again.
Panic washes over her face. She stops struggling with me. “What’s happening?”
“Stay with me!” I shout. “Don’t—”
Too late. The Lady of Death resumes control of Elizabeth’s corporeal body. Her skull-like mask returns. Once again, her hand pushes for my heart. Sharp nails dig into my skin.
Bam! A gunshot rings out. The impact strikes the entity above me, forcing her off. Instinctively, I cry out, “No!”
The spirit rolls into the air and lands on her feet a few yards away. I look up to see Paige aiming the gun again, ready to
